tolerable
by satyrs
Summary: what they have is functional and horrible and amazing and disgusting all rolled into one, and that is what irina defines as tolerable.


wow hi

ahm

this is au and a relationship study

**pairing/s – **fem!america/fem!russia.

**warnings – **mention of alcoholism, abuse and attempted suicide.

**rating – **_t_ i guess.

**disclaimer – **i do not own axis powers hetalia; hidekazu himaruya does.

–

She creeps up behind her sometimes, wraps her arms around her neck and sinks into her side (because their bodies are a perfect mold, but do they really fit together?)

She says, "you've gotten taller."

And Amelia tucks her head into her chest and Irina holds her because enemies are always there for each other and –

"I thought people stopped growing at sixteen."

"You're nineteen."

"I know."

She lets go and they tangle on the bed, puzzle pieces, and Irina finds herself slumped on top of Amelia's chest, thoughtful because god, they could bring the whole world down and this is what they do with that?

"You're smaller, now, I feel – like I could break you."

"You could break me."

("Why don't you start now?")

Amelia laughs. Irina doesn't like the sound.

–

She is drowning and she would wish it were figurative if her lungs weren't collapsed under water. She clutches the side of the bathtub now, breathes in tap and exhales bubbles. Her lungs are screaming, shrieking, clawing up the walls of her confining little hotel room.

(And she rises, is so uncoordinated that she sits there coughing up water for a good minute, still clutching porcelain when Amelia comes in.)

Her lungs are her. Ha, that's a terrible metaphor.

–

Amelia's hands are cupped around her nose and mouth, and her eyes are big, watching (glasses sitting on top of her messy hair hair, bruises dimming down her face. Irina doesn't like her face); Irina is _en pointe_, kicking and twirling up on the stage.

The former often has to sneak in to watch her, but she never fails to come, and it's good, perhaps, to have someone other than Toris out in the empty audience. (He's watching now, beady doe eyes, that same spooked-deer look on his face.)

When she finishes, she says, "your face bruises easily," to both of them, but maybe she changes her tone for Amelia. After all, she's special.

–

There are two things Irina can seldom stand: Amelia and yelling instructors. Miss Polzin is tall, haughty and forty-nine; there are stupid little freckles sprinkled across her face and her cardigan is always tight, never flatters her figure.

"Feet apart."

"_Move_ your feet." I am the queen of you, little bitch.

And her feet are apart, and she hears a text but ignores it because she knows it's some snide comment about what color nail polish she's wearing or the texture of her hair. She's chastised for leaving her phone on, but it's been twenty-one years and she has so little time to care.

Amelia is – well, Amelia isn't a dancer, to put it simply. She's fickle and brash and ill-mannered, and she's always looking for an opportunity to insult the person opposite her. Maybe Irina is the same way, albeit less terrible – maybe she's cold and a tiny bit cruel, blunt and somewhat bitter, but at least she looks intelligent with glasses.

–

Sometimes she's sad. Sometimes she's so sad that she'll start crying uncontrollably with no sign of the thing that made her that way (there is none), and Amelia will wrap her arms around her and let her sob because she knows there's nothing she can do.

Sometimes they fight. Sometimes one or the other pulled the trigger and they fight like house cats and then lions, passive-aggressive insults one minute, screaming and blows the next.

And sometimes they just sit, calmly regarding the other, and while Irina drinks herself into a stupor Amelia rattles on about aliens and ufos, and that's fine. Those are the good times (and so is every other moment, every other hour spent with the girl she hates the most.)

They're attention-seekers, thrill-drinkers – they're risk-takers and conspiracy-believers, but mostly they're functional. What they have is functional and horrible and amazing and disgusting all rolled into one, and that is what Irina defines as tolerable.


End file.
